


Thrown (previously Plan Blue now revised and expanded)

by rebel_diamond



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, This Might Get Dark, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr: philyra-dreamhouse, philyra91
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_diamond/pseuds/rebel_diamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mafia AU. The story of two sisters who chose each other ... and two brothers that didn't. Jane Foster is a doctor on the straight and narrow. Thor Odinson doesn't know right from wrong. Darcy Lewis has always lived her life on the fringe. Expelled from his own family, Loki Odinson has never needed an ally more. *Based on philyra-dreamhouse's gifset and prompt: http://philyra-dreamhouse.tumblr.com/post/79058549231</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on philyra-dreamhouse's gifset and prompt: http://philyra-dreamhouse.tumblr.com/post/79058549231

_Thrownness is a concept ... to describe our individual existences as "being thrown" into the world.… with all its attendant frustrations, sufferings, and demands that one does not choose, such as social conventions or ties of kinship and duty. [Thrownness results in] a kind of alienation that human beings struggle against, and that leaves a paradoxical opening for freedom._

_-“Thrownness” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thrownness_

 

When Loki was small, he had thought of his father's office as 'the throne room.' To a child of eight, his father was king and Asgard Tower the kingdom; twenty seven floors to explore, with each level offering some new realm to traverse. He spent his formative years hidden under desks and behind doors, silently observing his father conduct business. People came, were questioned, and dismissed. When Odin was away, Loki would sneak into his office and sit in his chair. Legs dangling off the edge of the leather seat, directing imaginary people and things wherever he pleased.  

Twenty four years later, the scope of his father's reach had expanded. The hallways that had once seemed cavernous had grown physically and emotionally constricting. Now his long legs carried him from one side of the building to the other quickly. As he strode into the office, he noticed again how little the 'throne room' had changed in the intervening years. His mother’s redecorating skills had not been allowed to breach this sacred space. The same heavy red curtains covered the floor to ceiling windows. The same dark desk, on a riser several carpeted steps above everyone and everything else in the room. And the same man stood behind it, commanding everything. Loki’s eyes slid past Heimdall, his father’s right hand man, who was keeping his constant watch beside Odin.

"Ah, Loki," Odin greeted, looking up from the computer in front of him, the eye patch Loki had never seen him without covering one eye. He gestured at the screen, "Have you seen Thor’s latest fight?” Loki approached and leaned over the desk, recognizing his brother’s blonde hair pass across the screen as he speared his opponent into some fencing. “He won us a lot of money last night." Thor’s focus this week seemed to be illegal sport and gambling, but that would inevitably change soon.

Loki winced, "You mean that bareknuckle boxing ring he rigged up in the basement? Really, father, is that the business we're in now?”

Trafficking, racketeering, counterfeiting, that was their business. The proceeds from these various enterprises going on to generate further wealth. Loki’s specialty? Tax evasion and money laundering, things that required brains. And Odin, with Heimdall, oversaw all of it.

It was a neat little operation, if short-sighted in Loki’s view. Fandral ran the prostitution ring, an unnecessary holdover from the 70’s, Loki thought. Criminal industry was evolving, relegating familial enterprises to the footnotes. Pornography and arson were all well and good when Odin began his operation forty years ago. Having a few police chiefs in your pocket was great, but what good are they to you now if they’re dropping from heart attacks or retiring to Florida? Nowadays you had to diversify into legitimate enterprises to keep the illegal ones funded. Otherwise you risk having one of your associates go straight and sell you out just to save their own hides. Asgard was at a crossroads. They could continue as they were, careful to stay small enough not to draw the attention of law outfits they couldn’t bribe away, a big fish in a small pond. Or they could, like Loki often suggested, infiltrate every judicial, executive, and legislative board in the city. Finally know what it’s like to have true power.

Loki nodded at the thick report sitting on the corner of his father’s desk, where he’d left it several days ago. "Have you looked at my plans for expansion? We missed the boat on the mayoral election. But I believe there's some interesting things happening in City Hall that we could get in at the ground floor on."

"Hm? Oh, yes," Odin waved his hand through the air, his eyes never leaving the screen. He chuckled proudly at a kick-punch combo Thor landed. "Thorough. But unrealistic," he told Loki.  

Loki cocked his head, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Unrealistic?” His father ignored him, absorbed in the fight. Loki glanced at the computer and back at his father. “If I remember correctly, the last idea Thor contributed was for us to star in a reality tv show.” Odin didn’t respond and Loki's jaw clenched, "Speaking of, will my brother be joining us?"

Odin shook his head, reluctantly closing the video of his firstborn celebrating in the middle of the ring. But not before Loki saw his brother’s wrapped hands being lifted in the air by Hogun, Asgard’s weapons and drugs supplier. He kept the local youth gangs equipped and under their thumb. "It's not necessary he should be here."

Loki balked, "Considering he's the reason we're having this meeting in the first place, I disagree."

Odin regarded Loki for the first time since he’d entered the room. As most people who sought Odin’s undivided attention found, when he did finally turn his unwavering gaze upon you, you wish he hadn’t. "You and I are better equipped for this part of the business."

Loki raised his eyebrows, "You mean cleaning up Thor’s messes?"

Odin emerged from behind the desk. He wore a brown suit with a gold and red tie, his signature regal colors. "Loki, someday,” he clasped his hands behind him, “Thor will have to take over the business and run this family.” He missed the darkening of Loki’s eyes. “Until then, let him have his fun. He's young."

"I'm younger," Loki countered. He steepled his fingers against the desk, back to his father, trying to chose his words carefully, "If I was running..."

Odin spun on him, "Yes, but you're not, are you?" he barked. His cordial mood vanishing, which, Loki noted, had been happening more and more lately when they were together.  

Loki’s reply was interrupted by Sif, their head of security and intelligence gathering, at the door. Volstagg took information from her spying and used it, with some well-applied muscle, for extortion. "Laufey here to see you," she announced from the doorway. Odin motioned for her to show he man in and took his place in front of the desk. Loki, out of habit, moved to take his place on his father’s left.

Loki kept his eyes locked on the entrance, "Father," he began again.

"That's enough, Loki," he growled. “If you do not want to do your job, I will find someone who will. Laufey," he greeted affably, calling to the man entering the room. 

Where Odin was broad and white bearded. Laufey was tall and thin, cleanshaven and dark featured. He was flanked by two nameless, faceless men. The Laufeysons and the Odinsons had ruled over the city for half a century. They had shared a heyday together, fighting for territory, money, and power. Eventually, it was either cease the bloodshed or it would be the undoing of them both. Odin lost his eye around this time. But he’d never told anyone how it had happened and those who were present wouldn’t breathe a word of it. As boys Loki and Thor liked to lay in their beds at night, trading fantastical war stories of what must have happened to injure the great man. So the two families had divided up the city and operated, not together, but beside one another for the next thirty plus years. A ceasefire which, two nights ago, had been broken by Thor.

"Odin," Laufey made a show of taking in the opulence of the room. "It’s been many years since I stood in this room.” His voice was low and measured, belying age old menace. “Heimdall,” he acknowledged, “you still here, old man?"

"I am." His simple answer more than usual given the crowd.    

"As much as I appreciated the tour given to me by the lovely Sif, I'm here for compensation." Laufey squared himself in front of them.  

"For some roughhousing?” Odin asked. “Come, Laufey, he’s a child. We were children once."

“As I understand it, he’s 34 years old and heir to all this,” he responded flatly. Loki's mouth tightened at yet another mention of his brother ruling over him one day. He relaxed his features when he saw Laufey studying him. "He’s running an underground fighting and gambling ring in my territory, one of these events ended in the death of two of my men. What kind of precedent is that setting? If he can take liberties as an underling, what am I to expect when he has the whole of Asgard's resources behind him? Loki," he shocked everyone by addressing Odin's youngest, "you’ve always been the more reasonable son. I suspect you and I would run our business very similar,” he surveyed Odin, "if given the chance."  

"My son is in no position to alleviate you. You deal with me, Laufey." Odin had given up his feigned congeniality.

Laufey pivoted on his heels back to Odin, his features cold and hard, "Very well. I want twenty percent of your territory on the west side of the city. Including that land development project I know you’ve been eyeing.”

Odin laughed at his outlandish request, "In the old days,"  

"In the old days," Laufey interrupted, "I would have taken your son's life or declared an all-out war in retaliation. Do you prefer either of those two options? Because I do believe this truce we've so enjoyed over these past many years was your idea, not mine."

Odin was quiet. So quiet that Loki glanced over at him. Rarely had he seen him consider his options. Usually Odin's mind was made up before his opponent even entered the room. And everyone was Odin’s opponent. He did not negotiate. And adversary may leave the room, thinking he had gained something, but only if that belief would help Odin later. No one ever left Odin's office with any more than he had not already decided to give. "Twenty percent of the west side and you can have the land," he relinquished.

"Deal," Laufey affirmed. “And I’ll ask this of you once and only once, Odin. Reign in your heir, or I will.”

"Loki, show them out,” Odin answered, disgust tinged his voice. He spun and walked back behind his desk.  

Glued to the spot in shock, Loki hesitated before shaking his head. Stalking across the room, he wrenched open the door. Laufey stayed where he was and glanced from Odin to Loki and back. Finally he shrugged, and turned to exit the room, his men trailing behind him. He halted in front of Loki, waiting until Loki met his eyes. “You look like your mother,” he told him.  

Loki met his stare, “I don’t look anything like my mother,” he retorted, because it was true. His brother was the one who had inherited his mother’s golden tones.

Laufey continued to scrutinize him. He leaned in, murmuring, "Do you really belong here, Loki?” he glanced back at Odin and Heimdall, “With these people?” Loki searched his face for meaning. “You know this family could be so much more. YOU could be so much more." Loki was startled to hear his own thoughts confirmed by a relative stranger. Laufey smiled, his desired effect reached.  

“Laufey,” Odin barked, causing Loki to blink hard, the spell broken. Laufey stood back to his full height. He flicked a business card out of his sleeve, offering it to Loki. Loki peered at the card, a spark of curiosity flared behind his eyes before he corrected himself. He resumed staring away disinterestedly into the distance.

Laufey laughed, "You're loyalty is impressive, boy," He reached out to Loki, who took a defensive step back. Laufey held up his hands to show he meant no harm, then placed the business card in the outer pocket of Loki's suit. "When you feel like doing some real business," he said, and strode out of the room.

Loki watched them disappear down the hallway and onto an elevator. He kept his back to his father. Reaching into his pocket he took out the card. Flipping it over, scrawled in quick cursive was a date, time, and the name of a bar in Laufey's territory.

“What is it?” Odin hollered when he noticed his son fumbling with the paper.

He contemplated his father, thumbing the cardstock. “Nothing,” he replied, ripping up the card and tossing it into the wastebasket as he left the room.

_________________________

Jane walked down the long white hospital corridor, sneakers squeaking on the waxed floor. Her brown hair hung down the shoulders of her well worn blue scrubs. She took a long sip of her coffee, plenty of sugar -- her third of that evening’s shift. While she walked she pulled her phone out of her white coat. The building was so familiar to her, she didn’t need to look up as she maneuvered the hallways and the people of the hospital. Jane pulled up her messages to send a quick text to Darcy.  

She wouldn’t be able to make it tonight, not that Darcy should be surprised. Darcy was always trying to get Jane to “come out” with her. “Coming out” usually meant a few nondescript bars, even more unremarkable men, and far too many fruity drinks. Their evenings out usually ended with Jane pulling the plug on the night early, either because she had to work at some odd hour the next day or to get some work done back at their apartment. Sometimes Darcy came with her, sometimes she stayed out well after Jane went to bed. Sometimes Darcy was home when Jane woke up the next morning and regaled her with tales of all the fun she’d missed, sometimes Darcy still hadn’t come home from the night before, and sometimes a guy Jane had never met before was sitting in their kitchen, eating her cereal.  

Yes, Darcy thought she should go out more than she was. But if Jane was being honest with herself, she thought Darcy should stay home more often than she was. What exactly did she get out playing Russian roulette with her life? The places she tended to hang out at, the people she associated with, all questionable. Jane knew because she saw them and their type wheeled into her ER on a regular basis for everything from broken bones to party drugs. And the last thing she wanted was the woman she thought of as a sister being one of them … or never making it to the hospital at all.

Sure Jane wasn’t exactly lighting the world on fire socially, as Darcy liked to point out, but she enjoyed her work. Yes, she didn’t get half of Darcy’s references because she fell asleep halfway through any movie they watched. Yes, she had not been on a date in … well, a while. Yes, she lived off of mostly the aforementioned cereal eaten out of the same white bowl. The latter of which, Darcy assured her, could be alleviated by saying yes to some of the men who asked her out.

“Good god woman, if you can’t feed yourself at least let someone else take a crack at it! You know guys are required to feed you on a date, like, that’s part of the deal. Do you think I actually like half the guys I go out with? I’m running a money saving operation here!” This Darcy had told her while gesturing to the one night stand sitting at their breakfast nook.

But to Jane, any bowl of cereal or hospital cafeteria meal was usually preferable to taking time away from her work as a tired but happy resident in emergency surgery. She glanced down at her all too familiar uniform. Well, it would feel good to put on some normal clothes. Maybe she should take Darcy’s advice. Maybe she should shake it up a little bit. It’s only one evening out of her life. Maybe she should go out tonight. She’d call it a night before things got too out of control. Like she normally did. Nothing had to change. Jane smiled and her thumb slid over the backspace to revise her original text, suddenly energized.

“Plan Blue,” the announcement came in over the intercom. It was their hospital’s code to alert the surgeon on call to go immediately to the ER entrance. A patient injured so critically they couldn’t spare the stop in the ER for evaluation needed to be taken for immediate surgery.

On second thought ….

Deflated, Jane hit send on her message to Darcy, tossed her coffee into the trash, and jogged the rest of the way down the corridor.

Jane threw her hair back in a ponytail, put on a surgical gown and mask, and joined the other doctors, nurses, and technicians in the OR. Jane nodded at Dr. Selvig, her mentor and attending physician, who stood across from her in his scrubs, waiting for the gurney to be rolled in. When the stretcher was pushed between the line of awaiting physicians, the team descended seamlessly in well-rehearsed formation. One member took over CPR. The anesthesiologist monitored the patient’s vital signs. The patient’s shirt was already cut open to reveal his injuries. The team called out their assessment.

“Male, multiple stab and gunshot wounds.”

“Blood in the airways.”  

“Right lung may be punctured.”

“Significant blood loss, hypothermia evident.”

Despite their best efforts to stave off further blood loss and stabilize the man, 20 minutes later it was evident they were too late. The blood loss and internal injuries were far too great.

"Call it, Dr. Foster," Erik requested.  

Jane glimpsed at the clock on the wall, then down at the man in front of her. With his gray hair and beard,  he could be someone’s favorite grandpa. One of his eyes was completely scarred over, a very old wound. Possibly from a war he had fought in as an idealistic young man. To survive seventy-some years in this world, just to die in such a horrific way…. Regardless of how this man lived his life, working in a hospital quickly taught you that tragedy befalls the careful just as much as those who court trouble. Though she had yet to learn how to be numb to it. Jane pulled off her gloves, "Time of death 11:28pm."

“Make sure the police are notified immediately,” Erik ordered. “I recognize this man. They're going to be interested in this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a scene to this chapter since it was originally posted. The scene at the end of the chapter was inspired by Breakfast at Tiffany's (film).

_Don’t mean to impose boy I’ll let you know_  
_You're hearing me say yes_  
_I'm saying no_  
_But you’ll never get the best of me_  
_Cuz' I get what I want and I know what I need_  
_-"Boys" Ashlee Simpson_

Darcy slumped down on the dark wood of the bar, taking a liberal scoop of peanuts from the glass bowl and throwing them back into her mouth. She lifted her phone and read the text again, _Sorry -- can't make it tonight, extra shift_. She sighed and let her head drop to her arm. If she’d known Jane wasn’t coming -- and she should have know Jane wasn’t coming -- she sure wouldn’t have picked this yuppie bar to spend her night in. It was one of those bars that modeled itself like an English pub, but comfortably commercialized for the young urbanite. She picked it solely for its proximity to the hospital to make it harder for Jane to weasel her way out of their plans.

She was so proud of her friend - the girl saved lives on a regular basis! And she wasn’t sorry she’d left her candy striper-esque internship she was working when she met Jane. The parting had been mutual. “A prejudice against human frailty” her supervisor had called it. The way Darcy looked at it, she’d never had a problem picking herself up by the straps of her cute ankle boots, and she expected others to do the same. But she barely got to see Jane anymore. She hated watching her friend lose days and nights of her young existence to the walls of a hospital, where she only got to see the ramifications of other people’s fun. Darcy had a nasty looking scar on her knee from childhood. She’d never made an effort to cover it and was known for showing it off; it showed she had the courage to make the leap off the highest monkey bars on the playground. She was just as pleased with a gash on her forearm from an attempt at bottle flipping during her stint as a bartender two years ago. If your weren’t regularly scraping your knees out there, you weren’t living.  

She grabbed another handful of peanuts and slowly spun around on her bar stool, assessing her options. She could go home and spend another night alone in their apartment, falling asleep on the couch to _Catfish_ reruns until she heard Jane’s keys in the lock, or she could try her luck elsewhere. She threw some peanuts up in the air and tried to catch them in her mouth, her dangling legs swinging back and forth. Chewing, she pulled whatever cash she had out of her jacket pocket. Throwing the crumpled bills and random change on the bar, she debated whether her string of odd jobs could afford her the drink that was already in front of her and the cover charge at a dive bar across town where a neo-rockabilly band was playing tonight. She picked up the pink concoction and took a long sip.

“I believe you dropped this.”

She swiveled, straw hanging from her lips. Three men stood in front of her. One held a wadded up dollar bill in his hand. Two others stood behind him, glancing disinterestedly at her for a moment then scanning the room. They were a little too old to be cruising for women in a pack. Maybe recent divorcees, here to give each other courage to get back out into the dating world?  

Darcy leaned her elbows back against the bar. She made no effort to hide her assessment of them. The two who showed no interest in her were in all black, obviously trying too hard to look cool and aloof. She thought the leather jackets they were wearing a bit much. The man staring at her intently was tall and lanky with short black hair that was obviously trying to be curly, even though he slicked it back. She docked him points for having a larger than average forehead, but everything about him was elongated. His features were sharp and dark, even though his skin was pale. He fit the ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ profile in an unusual way. She’d never seen a man quite like him before. He wore, Darcy almost choked on her drink, a three piece suit. And there was something unusually formal and slightly British about the way he talked. Yuppie.  

Darcy glanced down at her money haphazardly strewn across the smooth wood. “Oh, thanks,” she reached for her dollar.

He opened his palm, but before she could grasp the bill, he closed his fist around it. Darcy opened her mouth to complain, but he had already opened his hand again to reveal four quarters. Amused, Darcy relaxed back in her chair and watched as he closed his long fingers again and elegantly released, making her dollar appear again.

“Neat trick.”

He gave her a tight smile, “I hear that a lot,” handing the bill back to her.

She stuffed it in her pocket, perking up in her chair. “Cool, now do it again and this time make it a twenty,” she challenged. He laughed but made no move to leave his spot in front of her. “No, seriously, what else you got?” she requested, taking a sip from her drink. “My night just took a dive towards the pits and you’re the most entertaining thing in this place. Do they, like, hire you for the ambiance?”  

He took in the faux European decor with the signs advertising the ‘bangers and mash’ special and the fake cricket scores scribbled on the wall and grinned. “No, but it is the only place where they sell a decent dark ale,” he nodded to the drink he had sitting further down the bar, so unlike the pale beers littering the room.  

“Missing the mother country?” she asked, resting her head on her hand.

He contemplated his glass for a beat before meeting her eyes again, “Not at the moment.” He moved closer to the bar and leaned on it but didn’t sit down. “So what happened to your night?”

“I got stood up by my bestie, again," she rolled her eyes. “Cuz she’s, like, this super important person who does super important things like save lives, but like, I think HER life is super important too and she should put that first for a change!”

His eyes danced brightly as he followed her animated story. "Well,” he began, “I might not be your bestie,” the word sounding foreign coming out of his mouth, “but perhaps I can be a poor substitute for the evening."

Darcy considered his offer for a moment before leaning out of her chair, “Will the Royal Guard be joining us?” she asked of his two silent wingmen still shadowing him.

He glanced back at the men and nodded. They quickly disappeared out of the bar. Some friends, Darcy thought.

She made a show of looking him over again. Finally, she hooked her boot into the stool next to her and pulled it closer, "Alright, Professor,” she slapped the seat, “you'll do."

* * *

 

They’d sat at the pub finishing their drinks and talking until Darcy declared that she was starving and made a move to order off the pub menu.

“From personal experience, I wouldn’t,” Loki gently extracted the sticky laminate from her hands. “If you are willing to leave these,” he glanced around, “… charming surroundings, I know a place.” They’d grabbed a taxi and headed across town to a basement bar that served real fish and chips and was hosting a poetry slam.  

When they closed that place down, they’d wandered the streets, talking and ducking into whatever open shops looked interesting. Now they wandered up and down the aisles of an old 24 hour pharmacy that also sold shelves of random items that looked to have been there since the late ‘70s. There were rows of late night impulse buys, like Chinese lucky cats and dusty vases for the flowers you’ll never buy.

Darcy strolled down one aisle, Loki down the next. Darcy took the time apart to scrutinize him through the gap in the products as he picked up items, toyed with them, then placed them back on the shelf. He was dressed so uptight with his long coat and scarf. Like he was going to the opera. But he had fit in just as well in the dive bar they went to. He was quick to laugh. Always had something witty to say. He even got up on stage at one point and played guitar with the house band for a few songs. But he remained a bit of an enigma to her. She couldn’t quite pin him down. No matter how relaxed he seemed around her, how lost he got in the chords he played on stage, he was always so ... in control of himself. Darcy wondered what he’d be like if he really let go.    

Darcy tilted her head, “So where were you going all dressed up tonight?” she ventured.

Loki looked up from the plastic ukulele he was fingering, “Hm?”

She gestured at his clothes, “The duds.”

He glanced down at himself, “Oh, I just had some business to take care of tonight.”

They continued walking, occasionally losing sight of each other behind boxes, “What business?”

His eyes slid sideways, “I manage client relations,” he answered finally.  

“Like, for a law firm?”

“No,” he answered immediately, smirking, “Definitely not a law firm.”

“Good,” Darcy responded, “cuz I was beginning to think I made out in the back of that taxi with a lawyer,” she shivered.

Loki laughed, shaking his head, “No,” he leaned on the shelf between them, his face framed by lampshades and decorations for a holiday six months away, and stage whispered, “though I know a few reliable ones who specialize in discretion.” Darcy smiled back at him and they continued their stroll until they reached the end of their aisles. “Generally, I make things appear and disappear when required,” he added.

She looked at him, “Required by whom?”

Loki opened his mouth to answer, but froze. “My ... father,” he answered stiffly, the gleam in his eyes that she had appreciated all night fading. Suddenly he looked very far away.   

Darcy fingered a green sparkly birthday party hat, “Appear and disappear, huh? Ever steal anything?” she asked mischievously, hoping to bring that glint back.

Loki visibly brightened. “Now that I can confidently answer,” he stalked towards her, “yes.” Darcy smiled and with a flourish she placed a plastic black top hat on his head, the kind you give out at New Year’s Eve parties. Darcy thought he wore it rather well. “You?” he ventured, sensing she was up to something.

Darcy shrugged, a smile curving her full lips. She gave a long glance to the proprietor behind the little counter. The old woman’s silent, judging glare had been following them ever since they walked in.  

Darcy looked around like she was still browsing, but to Loki she was obviously searching for something. Loki followed her lead, nonchalantly grabbing a handful of erasers shaped like zoo animals. He coughed into his hand, slyly releasing his fingers one by one to show Darcy that the objects were no longer there.

Challenge issued, Darcy’s eyes lit up momentarily before narrowing. Casually playing with the zipper of her jacket, she stalked around the store. Her back was to Loki but her momentary hesitation told him she found what she was looking for. She crouched down for a minute, looking to all the world like she was tying her shoe. She abruptly stood up and walked past Loki, giving him a quick nod.

He followed her out the door, tipping his plastic hat to the old woman behind the counter. Darcy grabbed his hand and yanked him out of the store before the woman could object. She didn’t let go and they ran down the street laughing and whooping and didn’t stop until they reached the corner. “What did you get?” he asked her, both of them panting. She pulled down the zipper of her jacket and proudly pulled out a plastic bag. She held it up for his inspection. Inside it a goldfish swam in circles. He laughed again, smiling widely, “That’s why I like you Darcy.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

His breath slowed and he stepped closer to her, his face suddenly serious. He studied her for a long moment before answering. “Because I can be honest without telling the truth.”

Darcy looked into his eyes and accepted his answer. She’d heard worse. In fact, that was probably the most honest thing a man had ever told her.  

“You’re going to need a bowl for that fish,” he told her. In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I think I have one at my place,” he added. When she didn’t object, he wrapped one arm around Darcy and held the other in the air for a taxi.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Shotgun_Betty for betaing this!!!  
> Gosh, thank you SO MUCH to everyone who is enjoying this story and left reviews and kudos. You make sharing this story a really great experience.

When everything is wrong I'll come talk to you  
You make things alright when I'm feeling blue  
You are such a blessing and I wont be messing  
with the one thing that brings light to all of my darkness  
\- "My Best Friend" Weezer

Jane sunk into the big puffy couch she and Darcy had found for pennies at a yard sale in the suburbs. Her toes curled on the edge of the coffee table. The table had a glass inlay but she couldn't see it under all her journals and books. Her laptop balanced on her striped pajama bottoms. She tapped away on her laptop. She paused to take a bite of her bagel or consult one of the notebooks or sheets of paper she had feathered out around her.

It was the early hours of the morning when she’d come home from work. Usually exhaustion overtook her and she could easily pass out, no matter how active her brain, but she couldn’t sleep. Darcy hadn’t come home yet from the night before, which wasn’t in itself worrisome. She usually disappeared for a while when she found a new paramour. Her friend came and went as she pleased. From the apartment, from jobs, from responsibilities. Jane tried not to obsess over them but tonight, she could have used the distraction. So she was left to pace the short width of the apartment alone, sipping tea, trying to lull herself to sleep. She had lost people on the operating table before. It was a fact of her job. Why this particular man’s face, the old man with the scarred eye, haunted her, she couldn’t explain. It was her one true weakness as a doctor. One she heard over and over again in her reviews. She had a hard time separating herself from her patients. She made efforts to hide how much it affected her from Erik, but she suspected he knew. When the sun peaked through the curtains and she still couldn’t relax, she did what she always did when she didn’t know what to do, she worked.

Their apartment on the edge of the city was in a redeveloping part of town. The building they lived in was an even mixture of the disapproving elderly and the young tattooed hipsters. They were Darcy's type, the type who worked at the farmer’s market by day and sold shots on roller skates in bars at night. Jane and Darcy’s apartment was a cozy hodgepodge of colors, a product of thrifting and dumpster diving. It was tiny but the open floor plan suited them, with a bedroom on either side of the living room.

They’d been roommates ever since they’d met. Darcy was often assigned to Jane’s patients and both bemoaned the need for someone to split rent with. It was one of several internships Darcy had in several different fields over the years. She still took college courses off and on when money allowed, every time declaring a different major. People didn’t understand what made them friends, and Jane wasn’t sure she could explain it either. Both of them only children, they’d found a sisterhood with each other. They bickered, championed, and were protective of each other. It was a role they hadn’t realized was missing in their lives until they’d found it.

There was a jangling outside the apartment door for a long minute, the usual sound of Darcy fumbling with her keys. Jane stared at the door. A minute later Darcy tumbled into the apartment.

“Guten Morgen!” she announced, giving her keys a sprightly toss onto the table. She was still wearing the same mustard sweater, maroon skirt, and black leggings she was in when Jane left for work the night before. Jane didn’t remember leaving her with that particular skip in her step she had now though.  

Jane’s eyebrows shot in the air. “Good morning,” she answered, surprise evident in her voice. This was a far cry from Darcy’s regular morning after entrances into the apartment. There was usually a lot of slumping, slow movements and a “You wouldn’t believe the clown I had to put up with last night!”    

Darcy did a twirl while taking off her jacket, tossing it onto the back of a chair at the kitchen table in front of her. She hummed her way into the kitchen, stopping at a bag of bagels on the counter. “Ooooh, chocolate chip,” she declared, plucking it out of the bag.

“And where were you last night?” Jane sang, since she wasn’t offering immediate details, entertaining as the show Darcy was putting on was.

Darcy pivoted on her toes to face Jane, a grin fighting for dominance on her face where derision often resided. “Would you believe,” she revealed, taking a large stride into the living room, “a penthouse suite!?” her voice rose at the end.

Jane shook her head in confusion, “With a guy? Was he the poolboy?”

Darcy paused, not even offended, but considering the question. “Ya know, you would think,” she pointed her finger at Jane, “but no.”

Penthouse? Darcy!? Not her usual type ... of location or man. At all. Even more surprising than her being there at all was that she had gone there of her own free will and enjoyed herself. Jane could see her wandering into a black tie affair, drinking a rich man's booze for kicks and saying rude things to bankers all night. But not hanging out with that crowd on purpose.

“A penthouse?” Jane mused again. “What’s he do?” she asked. Guys with a career weren’t even Darcy’s type. Guys with a job that they showed up to on occasion and got paid under the table, sure. But not guys who regularly and reliably appeared somewhere for money that could be claimed on a tax form.

“Not really sure,” Darcy answered around a mouthful of bagel. “Business of some kind. But I think he’s, like, from old English money or something. And I’m pretty sure he has bodyguards. His family probably has one of those estates where they find, like, Marie Antoinette’s wigs in their attic.” She shrugged, “Anyway his place is right in the middle of the city. You can see everything from up there. There’s even a heated pool on the roof. You should have come out with me!”

“I think it’s best I didn’t,” Jane teased.

“He might have a rich friend,” Darcy taunted back.

“Darcy May Lewis,” Jane chided, “I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Since when do you rate people based on how much money they have?”

“No,” Darcy whined in response to Jane’s teasing. She walked further into the living room, throwing her arms down in frustration. “It’s more than that, it’s, like…” she trailed off into space for a moment before seeing the look Jane was giving her. She tried to hide her blush behind her bagel. “Oh, I don’t know, don’t look at me like that!” she tore a piece of her bagel off and threw it at Jane. “He’s … clever. And I like that.” Darcy returned her attention to her bagel. She licked her fingers, “We’re going out again Thursday night.”

“Darcy!” Jane exclaimed in fake shock. “Don’t you think that’s a little too fast?” This was the most enthusiasm Darcy had shown for a guy in a long time. And Darcy didn’t give most people the time of day. Jane smiled, happy for her best friend all the same, despite the unusual source of her joy. 

“Come out with us,” Darcy requested. 

“I have to work,” Jane answered automatically.  

Darcy flopped down on the couch next to Jane, making some of her papers flutter to the floor. Jane moved to collect them, but Darcy blocked her. “Look, Jane, I cannot leave you in this apartment alone one more night. It’s so depressing! I don’t know what yet, but something’s happening here and I want to share it with you.”

Jane glanced down at Darcy’s hands, only now noticing the little objects she was playing with. “What’s with the menagerie?”

Darcy looked down at the animal erasers in her hand. She fiddled with them a little and shook her head, “It’s nothing, just something stupid.” But the dreamy smile on her face told Jane that it was anything but.

Jane thought back to her internal argument with herself at the hospital. “Alright, Thursday, I’ll come straight after work. I promise,” she added when Darcy gave her a doubtful look. Satisfied, Darcy stood up and headed towards her bedroom. “But seriously, Darcy, what do you know about this guy?”

Darcy stopped in her tracks. There it was, the disapproving older sister tone she’d come to expect. The intonation that never failed to make her bristle. They played the roles everyone expected of them perfectly. Jane, the watchful responsible one. Darcy, the impetuous good timer with not a care in the world. Jane, who tried to help Darcy focus on a subject and buckle down in her studies. Darcy, who always made the wrong choice.

Jane, sensing her tension, prodded more gently. “Darcy, you barely know him.”

“Jane,” she ground out, “you’re overreacting.” Darcy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to fight, especially with Jane, the one constant in her life. And if there was thing Darcy excelled at it was having a good time. Always. She breezily shook off the bad mood. “No worries, mamacita,“ she said lightly, returning to Jane and draping herself over the back of the couch. She gave Jane a squeeze, “I can take care of myself.” She dropped a sisterly kiss on Jane’s forehead and pushed off the couch, disappearing behind her door.

Jane sighed. “Fine,” she shouted at her bedroom door, “but what about him?”  


	4. Chapter 4

_Now the old king is dead_  
 _long live the king_  
 _\- "Vida La Vida” Coldplay_  


The next morning continued ...

“I am told the young are attached to their phones. I wish to God these two would prove the adage true.” Heimdall stated from the far end of the boardroom, standing at the head of a long table. He wasn’t one to pace when working out a problem. He spoke to no one in particular but looked pointedly at Sif. She was poised on the other side of the long glossy table, her hair in a tight chignon. “Do we know where they are yet? I thought we could track their phones.”

Sif crossed her arms over her crisp white suit. “Loki always figures out how to disable it.”

“And Thor’s probably too hungover to even remember where he left his phone,” Volstagg added. He leaned against the bar that ran the right side of the room. Already red-faced, he poured himself a fresh drink from a crystal decanter.

Heimdall watched Sif for confirmation. She shrugged in agreeance. Footsteps approached, cutting off any suggestion she would make. Seconds later Loki strode into the room, halting when three pairs of eyes bore into him. His eyebrows raised, “What?”

Heimdall addressed him, “Where were you last night? Sif didn’t see you on any of the security footage.”

Loki relaxed, not particularly ruffled by this familiar line of questioning. “Out,” he answered, strolling into the room and removing his gloves, tossing them onto the table.  

“In one of his many hideaways around the city he doesn’t tell anyone about,” Volstagg disclosed to Heimdall. His eyes, heavy with suspicion and drink, followed Loki around the room. He stood tall, using his width to his full advantage. “You think you’re being so secretive. Everyone knows you keep apartments, and who knows what else, all over town,” he accused.

Loki gave him an indulgent smile before turning back to Heimdall. “And why, may I ask, is Asgard Industries’ Head of Security scanning cameras for me? Shouldn’t she be checking for people who don’t belong in here? Last I checked, this building, and everything in it, is my birthright.” He continued around the table, taking off his coat and throwing it over the back of a chair.

“Interesting choice of words,” Heimdall commented in his characteristically even tone.

“Oh?” Loki asked, impatience tingeing his voice.

Heimdall ignored his tone, a well-practiced disregard, “Where’s your brother?”

Loki spread his arms, “Since when am I his keeper? Ask Sif,” he said, gesturing at where she stood. “She’s the one staring at him all the time.”

Sif’s mouth turned down at his comment, causing her to abandon her usually cool exterior. Lunging towards Loki, her hand moved to rest on the gun at her hip. Loki folded his arms, bored, and watched her approach.

“Sif,” Heimdall warned. Sif, remembering herself, halted and took a calming breath, though that didn’t stop her from shooting a glare at Loki, who gave her a withering gaze in return. “We require your brother’s presence as well as yours,” Heimdall disclosed. “Do you have any idea where ...”

Heavy footfalls interrupted them. A ruckus that sounded suspiciously like a vase crashing to the floor followed, and a deep curse under a breath. Moments later said brother stumbled into the room. Shaking his wet hands, he wiped them on his pants, meandering his way to the bar. With the longest and most well stocked bar in the building, the conference room served the dual purpose of local watering hole, as well as a place to conduct business. Still, surprised to see everyone there at once during daylight hours, he froze. Thor peered around at all four faces, stared at his watch before he realized he wasn’t wearing one, then covered by smoothing his hands through his hair and attempted to look purposeful. Loki watched the charade with equal parts amusement and disdain. Heimdall took in his disheveled state, “And where have you been?”

“With Fandral,” Thor retorted, smiling at the group.   

Loki sniffed, “And his merry band of whores.”

Thor just shrugged and grinned, maneuvering around Loki to get to the bar. “How do we know we’re providing good product if we do not try it ourselves?” he offered.

Loki ignored his question, surveying him up and down as sauntered across the room. Volstagg accommodated him in front of the growing collection of bottles and handed him a glass. His eyes narrowed, “Isn’t that the suit you were wearing two nights ago?”

Thor held his drink away from his body, glimpsing down at his crumpled gray slacks and rumpled, misbuttoned dark blue shirt. “Always so observant, brother,” he saluted him with the drink in his hand before taking a long sip.

“Oh,” Loki feigned surprise, “so you were actually trying to hide the fact that you’re high right now?”

Thor stared at his brother for a long moment. “Like I said,” he declared to the room, “product,” his tone slightly less jovial. He dragged his eyes away from Loki and turned to Heimdall. “Sorry I’m late for the meeting,” he said out of habit and downed the rest of his drink.

“I called no meeting,” Heimdall replied.

“Oh,” Thor perked up, any concern he may have had about some forgotten appointment vanishing.

“But I have been looking for you.” Heimdall’s voice, always grave, failed to rouse the desired attention of Asgard’s two sons.

Odin’s right hand took a moment to consider the brothers. The opportunity to study them standing next to each other was rare these past many years. He’d been privy to their development from children to the men who stood in front of him now. Yes, they were both tall, imposing characters, just like Odin. But they were, as always, a study in contrasts. All the signs had been there. As a little boy Thor would come home with bleeding noses and broken wrists, injuries from instigating fights with older, bigger children in the city playgrounds. And Loki, somehow always knowing more than he should, would disappear for hours, returning with some new book or skill he’d picked up. And always antagonizing one another. Loki getting Thor to do dangerous stunts Thor was all too willing to try.

Heimdall searched his mind for a time when he remembered them being protective of one another. Of working together. When they were boys they had shared a room for years, even though there were many to choose from. Something had caused a falling out between them when they were youngsters. A rift between them that still held through today. Loki making Thor lash out, Thor making Loki say terrible things. What had happened? They’d never had anonymity. They were born into a world that valued brashness and force. Two princes fighting for the attention and affection of their father, now grown into two very different men fighting for and forging their own paths; paths that were quickly veering further and further away from one another. What would happen now? The bickering they were doing now seemed both childishly inconsequential and a sign of a bigger war to come.

Thor relaxed and slid himself onto the table, clicking the ice in his empty glass between his legs, “Well, here I am. Where’s father?”

“I’m sorry,” Loki interjected, “since there’s no purpose to this little gathering may I be on my way?” he scooped up his jacket and gloves and made to leave the room.

Nobody answered his question immediately, which was unusual. Thor tried again, “Sif?” She lowered her head to the floor, not meeting his eyes. Feeling the energy of the room shift, Thor attempted to recapture its familiar sociable spirit. He held out his glass, “Volstagg, pour me another drink, my friend.” Volstagg studied him for a long moment before slowly turning back to the bar and reaching for a tall bottle. Thor sat up, “What is wrong with everyone?” he entreated. “You’d think somebody died.”

“Somebody did,” Heimdall’s deep voice broke in. He performed a quick scan of the room to see everyone watching him but Loki, who was quickly retreating out of the room. “Odin is dead,” he announced.  

One foot out of the doorway, Loki stilled.  

“What?” Thor’s voice cracked, filled with confusion. He still wore a wary smile and searched the room for confirmation they were playing a joke on him.

“When?” Loki murmured, his back still to them.

“Last night,” Heimdall replied.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Thor’s voice was louder now, but continued to waver.

“I’m telling you now,” Heimdall responded to the man that now looked very much like a lost little boy. His shoulders were slumped, the glass he held threatening to fall from his fingertips.

“But how?” he pleaded.

“Murdered,” ground out Volstagg, his grip on the bottle he had picked up earlier tightening.

“Frigga found him,” Sif added softly.

“Why weren’t you there?” Thor petitioned Heimdall. He looked at everyone else. “Why weren’t any of you there?” he accused them.

Loki abandoned his place in the doorway, pointing two fingers at Sif and Volstagg. “So these two knew before his own sons?”  

“These two were here doing their jobs,” Heimdall remained immovable.  

“Where’s mother now?” Thor asked.

“We took her to the country estate,” Sif answered. “She is beside herself with grief.”

“Did any of our business get interrupted by this event? Has anybody made any moves?” inquired Loki.

Thor turned to his brother in disbelief, “‘This event’? Our father dies and you concern yourself with the timely arrival of guns and meth? How could you be so cold?” His eyes were visibly watering. Volstagg walked over to Thor, slapping a hand on his shoulder. Thor visibly jerked from the pressure, but stared off into the distance. Sif looked at them longingly from her spot across the room, desperately wanting to join Volstagg at Thor’s side, but kept her place near the door.

Loki pointed to Heimdall, “The overseer of our father’s business finds out about his death before his own sons. Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know about where we fall in this organization? Our occupation doesn’t give time off for family leave, Thor. Someone has to make sure this business keeps on functioning. This is the perfect time for someone to try to make a name for themselves by challenging Asgard.” He turned to Heimdall, “I assume there’s no contingency plan?”

“There is no will,” Heimdall concurred.

Loki scoffed, “Odin always did believe himself immortal.”

Something in Loki’s words shook Thor awake. His eyes focused and he shrugged off Volstagg. “I’ll take over,” he declared, rising from his seat on the table.

“What says you take over?” Loki challenged.

“I’m eldest.”

Loki rolled his eyes, “A reasoning that hasn’t worked since we were children. This isn’t the feudal system, Thor.”

“So who should take over then, you?” Volstagg challenged Loki, crossing his arms.

Loki straightened. “They do say I am the brains of this operation,” he snapped at the group.

“Aye, but doesn’t primogeniture allow the business to remain as united as possible to maintain stability as well as the wealth, power and social standing of the family?” Thor grinned smugly. He advanced toward Loki. “I had fancy teachers too, brother,” he mocked. While they were the same height, Thor had more experience wielding his statue over others. “As for your brains … you’re not going to have any left after I beat them in,” he ground out.

Loki didn’t flinch. “Yes, violence does solve everything, doesn’t it?” he hissed.

Thor stepped back and examined his brother. He had a retort, an ace in the hole, and he was debating on whether to play it. One that would hurt him far more than any punch he could throw. Loki’s sneer dared him. “You know it was father’s wish that I succeed him.”

The room was silent in agreeance. He looked past Thor, to the others disinterestedly. “Let me know when you’re all done bashing your heads together.” He pivoted away from his brother and stalked out of the room.  

Thor turned to Heimdall, Sif, and Volstagg. “Who is responsible for the death of my father?” Sif and Volstagg didn’t meet his eyes. Heimdall studied him silently. “WHO?” he roared, throwing his glass across the room where it shattered against the wall. He pointed at all of them. “Whoever is responsible for my father’s death will pay for what they have done.” He stormed towards the door, turning back to address Sif and Volstagg, “Call Fandral and Hogun. We will light this city on fire to uncover who did this and burn it to the ground if we must.”   

“Thor,” Sif called, but he waved her off and disappeared down the hall. With a concerned glance at Heimdall, Sif and Volstagg quickly followed him out of the room.

Heimdall stood alone for a long time before quietly walking over to the bar. The shards of glass and ice from Thor’s drink crunched under his boots. He poured himself a carefully measured whiskey. Drinking in silence, he studied the walls around him, watching as the rays of the sun moved as the day passed. He took in the empire that Odin built. Doubtful any of it would still be standing when whatever had just begun was over.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Everyday people do_   
_Everyday things but I_   
_Can't be one of them_   
_I know you hear me now_   
_We are a different kind_   
_We can do anything_   
_\- “Heroes” Alesso_

   
Darcy flung her magazine down, popping up from the couch and slapping the Cheetos crumbs off her hands. She wouldn’t have to do her haphazard vacuuming routine until later that night before Jane came home. The knock at the door that interrupted her wasn’t the usual heavy pounding of the super, come to tell Darcy to turn Real Housewives down. She muted the television anyway. All the better to feign ignorance if it was, in fact, another noise complaint. The number of possible people at their door was slim. She made a point to not make the apartment too hospitable to anyone she did bring back here. And Jane didn’t have any friends. Their most frequent visitors were Chad, the pad thai delivery guy, and Bill, the pizza guy. Unless it was ….

“Alright, creep, I told you last time,” she hollered at the door. She grabbed a knife out of the butcher block as she went. “You take my underwear out of the dryer again, just to have an excuse to come up here and talk to me, I castrate you. Is this my lucky day 12B?” She flung the door open, knife thrust out in front of her. “Oh, hey!” she said brightly.She was surprised to see Loki leaning against the doorframe. Bordered by the dinginess of the scuffed paint of the hallway behind him, he looked even more pristine than usual in his crisp suit and tie. To amuse herself, Darcy liked to picture him every day in things, like an Adidas track suit or, ya know, jeans. That made her laugh. After not seeing him for a few days, it struck her anew how ‘not her type’ he was. He was four years older than her, but it might was well be ten. When he wore a scarf, it wasn’t ironically. To all the world it looked like she was sleeping with "The Man." But something in the way he looked at and dealt with the world felt familiar to her. They both had an innate mistrust in anyone but themselves. People who didn’t know them might think they had an air of mystery about them. But it had nothing to do with mystery and everything to do with control. Control of situation. Control of themselves. Control of their environment. Control. No matter what.No one could take advantage of you when you were in the driver’s seat of your own life.

Even though she had come at him brandishing a weapon, it didn’t break his composure. He fingered the edge of the knife she’d forgotten to lower casually. “Is that for me?” he looked at her from under dark brows. The hallway lighting cast shadows over the contours of his face, making them more pronounced.  

Darcy shrugged, grinning at him while carelessly rotating her wrist. Twirling the weapon at the middle of his chest, “Doesn’t have to be,” she smiled saucily. “Neighborhood’s got some shady characters. Never know when you might have to shiv somebody,” she faked stabbing him in the stomach.  

His face, patient and curious as it usually was when she was speaking, darkened and he took a step forward so the knife pressed against his abdomen. Darcy stepped back automatically, giving him a confused smile. But he reached out and wrapped his hand over hers tightly, wrenching her back to him. Flirtatious smile vanishing, Darcy’s body jerked. A cry died in her throat. His jaw twitched in anger. Were they still joking? She hadn’t been serious about hurting him. _Maybe I don’t know him as well as I thought I did_. She was left to watch transfixed ashe dragged the knife firmly up his vest and to the left, placing the tip of the blade over his heart. She had always been aware of how tall he was, but he’d never used it to dominate her like he was now. _I’m going to die in my apartment. My religious zealot of a mother was right._ She choked on her own breath.

“Here,” he commanded, forcing the tip of the blade to make an indent against his chest. “You ever need to use this,” he snapped, “you aim right here.” He gave her hand another hard jerk, “Understand?”

She didn’t have a witty quip for that, so she settled for nodding dumbly instead.   

“Now,” he stepped back from her, his voice returned to it’s usual seductive notes as he shifted back to the effortless demeanor Darcy knew him for. “Not that a little knife play doesn’t have its time or place….” He reached into his inner pocket to extract a fancy looking bottle of brown liquid. Darcy matched his grin warily, struggling to shake the last unsettling minute from her mind. Impromptu self-defense lessons, complete with realistic role play, was a new experience for her.Daytime drinking with a sexy guy she met at a bar though … this she could do. Winding her weaponless hand around his neck, Darcy tossed the kitchen utensil over her shoulder in the general direction of the sink, paying no attention to the clanging that followed, she tugged him into the apartment, kicking the door closed.  

_Later..._

“So,” Darcy sighed, rolling onto her back, “I know I’m pretty awesome, but I’m not sure I did anything to deserve that last bit at the end. The thing with the tongue?” Her head popped up from the mattress, “Not that I’m complaining.” Her head flopped back. She had no idea where the half dozen pillows that were usually piled on her bed had gone to. She had grabbed two glasses on their way to her room, all the while being divested of her clothes by expert hands. Everything that happened after had been one big, beautiful blur. Darcy was a fan of tipsy sex, but in the end, they’d barely touched the bottle.   

She looked over at Loki sprawled out beside her, staring at the ceiling. He smiled at her babbling, she could see the crinkle in the corner of his eye, but his face was serious. The more time she spent with him, the more she noticed that he was often distracted by something sobering. Even when he was being funny it was often deadpan. Not that it bothered her. She understood what he’d meant on the street corner when he’d told her he could be honest with her without telling her the truth. They could be themselves, all the while keeping each other at arm's length.

She tried not to think back to that earlier, Jekyll and Hyde moment with the knife. It made her think back to what Jane said about not knowing this guy at all. But Darcy trusted her instincts. She went with her gut, always. Jane carefully weighed out the pros and cons of any decision, usually taking so long as to miss the opportunity completely. Darcy wasn’t going to waste any time. Ever. Besides, it was just a moment. What was one moment in her long life?

“I thought we were seeing each other later tonight,” she attempted to bring him back to her.  

“I wanted to see you now,” he answered, still not looking at her.  

Something about that reply nagged at the corner of her mind. “Wait,” she rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “How’d you even know where I live?” They’d hardly known each other a week. Even the guys she brought home in the cover of darkness got kicked out the next morning and had to figure out their own direction home. She gave her personal info out in teaspoons, not heaps. She knew what she told strangers. _Loki is not a stranger. Damnit Jane, get out of my head, you’re ruining my afterglow!_

He continued staring at the ceiling and shrugged, “You told me.”

“No I didn’t, stalker,” she nudged him. She wasn’t going to let this skate by.    

He turned his head to look at her, “In my defense, Darcy, I’m fairly certain I make you say a lot of things you don’t remember.” He ran his gaze up and down her body, leaning down to kiss the inside of her wrist.

In response, she raked her fingers through his hair, letting loose some of the curl. She liked messing him up, making him look unkempt. He was so pristine all the time it made her want to smack his perfect cheekbone. Constantly with the suits and accessories and fancy alcohol. Not that she needed to know his life story, in fact she preferred not to. They'd had fun the night they met. When they went back to his swanky apartment, so immaculate it looked like nobody lived there, they’d had frisky sex all night and into next morning. If he had a hobby or interests he sure hid it well. The only personal thing he owned was a guitar in a stand next to his fireplace. When she asked him how he learned, he’d told her, “Here and there.”    

He sighed and threw himself on his side, mirroring her position. He narrowed his eyes at her, "You're not one of those women who's going to want to talk about our feelings now, are you?" He was obviously kidding, but also obviously trying to change the subject.

"Alright, Evado," she sat up, grabbing her pants and shirt, "have your creepy ass secrets. I got a few of my own," she sassed. She wasn’t really mad, just making a point, as she threw her shirt on and tugged it down in a huff.

"Alright, Darcy," he took a deep breath, flinging an arm over his forehead. "What do you want to know?"

She squealed, tossing her pants back down on the floor, and bounced on the bed, crossed her legs to face him. "Okay, first of all, what's with the fifteen piece suits all the time? How are you so loaded? Do you not own a pair of jeans? Who dresses you?" She paled, “You’re wife?”

He blinked at her. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then swung himself up to sit across from her. "Um, in order … My work hours are unusual. Family money. Quite a few, actually. Myself. And God, no."

She leaned in, her forehead touching his, squinting, "What's with the surprise visit today?"

He looked her straight in the eyes, though the light in his own dimmed a little. “My father died,” he told her quietly.  

Darcy sprung back from him as if his skin burned hers. “Oh.” She wasn’t sure what to say. She had usually extricated herself from the relationship before it got to the ‘helping each other through family crisis’ phase.

He continued in monotone, “There is no will. Now, the business I was born into is going entirely to my brother, who isn’t responsible enough to own a dog let alone run a multi-million dollar empire,” bitterness infiltrated his voice. “I get nothing but to watch him run what I helped build into the ground in front of me. He could kick me out on the streets if he wanted to. Cast me out of my own family. Disinherited. If you’re wondering why I’m so cagey about my life, Darcy, it’s because the majority of it is not good.”

Darcy was silent for a long moment. The air hung heavy between them. He looked at her uncertainly. He believed he’d just effectively scared her off, shut her out completely. That she could have no possible diverting response for that. That he’d silenced her forever.

"That's fucked up," she said finally.

He let out a bark of laughter. "Yes, to put it bluntly. That is,” he tried out the phrase himself, “fucked. Up.” He shook his head slowly, “It was mine,” he hissed to himself, tearing at the frayed edges of the sheets covering him. Darcy sat quiet and still across him. She felt like she was witnessing something maybe she shouldn’t, something incredibly private. The urge to make a joke and an excuse to get up and leave was overwhelming. But something kept her there.

“I’m going to lose everything,” he determined. “Because they love him and not me.” He fell back into contemplation.

That was the longest soliloquy she’d ever heard from him. It made her look at the little she knew about him differently. He wasn’t secretive. He was alone. He wasn’t dishonest. He had no allies. The black sheep of the family. She knew a little about being different from everyone that surrounded you. She’d taken considerable efforts to build her own family. Her own support system. Like Jane. Jane believed in her. Darcy believed in him. He was obviously smart, passionate ... deserving. “So take it back,” her confident voice rung out.   

His head jerked up. He smiled at her like you would a small child, “Just like that?” he asked.  

“It’s not your fault they’re all idiots!” she flailed her arms. She had worked herself into a tizzy of rebellion over the injustice. “You have just as much right to it, whatever it is, as everyone else! Why should your brother get the whole thing? If there’s nothing official that says he gets it, then there’s nothing saying that you don’t. Loki, they’re trying to steal your inheritance! We should get it back!”

“We?” he arched a brow.

Her eyes shifted about the room, “Well, yeah.” She hadn’t meant to slip that “we” in, it’d just come out.She didn’t know what she was agreeing to. All she knew was that she believed in it and she wanted to.

He tilted his head, “You don’t know what you’re suggesting. Darcy, if we do this,” he placed his hands on her knees, forcing her to look at him. ”This could get messy.”

She met his eyes with confidence. “Clean is overrated,” she ruffled his hair again. “You’re too clean anyway.”


	6. Chapter 6

_Into this world we’re thrown._  
 _\- “Riders on the Storm” The Doors_

The ice in Thor’s glass clinked as he poured himself another round from the bottle he’d brought onto the observation deck. Asgard Tower was an art deco style building with several levels of setbacks. A brick building with an internal steel skeleton. He always liked that his family’s skyscraper was a sort of deception in that way. He stood on the lowest setback five flights up. One side overlooked the busy avenue, the other a deserted alleyway. Even though it was late, the white stone gargoyles stood brightly against the dark skyline. As children he and his friends dared each other to climb out onto the statues. Sif, the most agile and bravest of the bunch, held the record for dangling over the traffic the longest. So many of his current companions were childhood friends raised in this business. For their entire youth, Asgard Tower had been their playground. It still was. The aggravated horns from the street floated up to him. The night’s wind up here was strong and his suit jacket whipped in the wind. He could hear thunder rolling in the distance.

Despite their shakedown of the city, they’d been unsuccessful in finding any answers about his father’s death. Sif was checking the security footage of every building and home they had eyes on. Hogun was rounding up an arsenal of weaponry. Volstagg and Fandral were visiting any and all suspected associates, looking for leads. It had only been a couple days but Thor was impatient for answers. After their latest lead trickled out, he’d upturned a few tables and busted a door. Heimdall advised him to take the rest of the night off, that they’d notify him if they found anything. He’d phrased it like a suggestion, but it was more akin to a command. So Thor came up here to cool down. The late autumn gusts and the drinks already in him caused him to stagger, but he righted himself.

His father. He couldn’t believe he was gone except for the sudden lack of omnipresence. Odin had known all and was involved in every aspect of Thor’s life. What was their last conversation? Something trivial about his upcoming fight. What would he have said to him, if he’d known it would be the last time they would speak? I love you? No, they’d never had that type of relationship. Odin would have questioned what type of man he’d raised. He knew his father was proud of him, but love? Odin regarded that as Frigga’s work. And even then, he’d thought she was too gentle with them. His father was a great man. Everybody thought so. He was Thor’s hero, no less so at seven than at thirty four. Thor didn’t believe in ghosts, but he could feel the spirit of his father with him. He always imagined succeeding his father. What he and his friends could accomplish. But he’d envisioned his father beside him all the while, acting in the place of Heimdall. He’d never considered a world with his father not in it. Was that naive of him? Hopeful? Whatever it was, it didn’t matter now. He knew Odin would want him to carry on. Assume the mantle. He could be his father. Become Odin. He knew he could. He could do better. More. His father would want him to fight. To avenge.

The laughter of the people on the bustling street below broke through his thoughts. He wandered over to the edge of the building, looking over the low brick wall at the couples and groups huddled together, an ineffective barrier between him and plummeting to the ground. They scurried down the sidewalk, ducking into bars and clubs and theatres. From where he stood, they were ants. So ignorant of the hurt raging inside him. His anger resurged. They were oblivious to the destruction he was going to rain down on them if the guilty parties were not turned over to him. He picked up the bottle again to drain it. They weren’t just small but petty. Insignificant. Finding the bottle empty filled him with rage. He hurled it off the roof, a momentary rush of pleasure coursing through him at the delayed smash and the muffled cries and sight of people scattering. _That’s right. Run. All of you._ His mood turned dark again when he felt a familiar presence behind him. He looked up but didn’t bother turn around.

“Loki,” he greeted tiredly, throwing back what droplets were left clinging to the melting ice in his glass.

His brother strolled further onto the roof but kept away from where Thor was lingering. “I wouldn’t be standing so close to the edge in your state.”

Thor grinned scathingly. “I’m surprised you’d show your face here tonight,” he turned to face Loki, “after the indifference you showed. While we’ve been tearing this city apart, you’ve been in hiding … like the coward that you are.”  

“On second thought,” Loki’s face hardened, “take a few steps to your left.” They glowered at each other. Loki broke the stare and looked down at the ground. He kicked at the gravel, shaking his head and smiling bitterly.

He peered up at his brother, “Do you remember your eighth birthday?” Thor squinted at his brother in confusion. “I do. The party was in this very building. It corresponded with our mother’s newest redecorating reveal. Everyone was invited. We were all gathered in the ballroom to sing “Happy Birthday” and watch you blow out your eight little candles. But before you did, Odin lifted you onto his shoulder and declared in front of everyone that this building, and everything in it, had been created for you. Someday, when you’d proven yourself worthy, all this would be yours.”

As he related the story Thor’s eyes, already hazy with alcohol, drifted into the distance. “That was the day you moved out of our shared bedroom and onto another floor entirely,” he added softly.  

Loki ignored his abated tone. “What choice did I have? I learned that day what my place was in this family.” He crept closer. “And what have you done in the intervening years to deserve everything?” he demanded. Lightning lit up the sky behind him, followed by a clap of thunder.   

Thor looked up sharply, taking in in his brother’s agitated state, noticeably different from his usual calm disdain.

“You’re wasting your time turning the city upside down,” he declared. “Perhaps we should look a little closer to home.”

Thor pressed his hand to his chest. “You believe me to be responsible?” He felt as if he must be hallucinating. But the buzz he’d been feeling earlier had vanished. A cold drizzle began to sting his face. This must be some sort of cruel joke then. He looked around the roof, uncomprehending.

“Don’t bother looking for your friends,” Loki snapped. “They’re not here to help you work this one out.”

Thor approached him warily, the nauseated feeling growing. “Do you intend to start a war with me, brother?”

“Oh,” Loki snickered, “I think it’s already begun. Your move,” he hissed.

Thor’s jaw ticked. How dare he challenge their father’s known wishes. His legacy and everything he worked so hard to build was at stake. And his brother wanted to tear it apart. He was not going to let that happen. The rain came down in sheets. Deciding what he would do, he looked away for a moment before he cocked back his fist.

Loki’s head snapped with the impact, but he stayed on his feet. Pain radiated from his cheek, where Thor’s knuckles had connected. His vision momentarily blurred. He brought the back of his hand to his face. “Resorting to violence, are we?” he shook off the ache, shedding water droplets. “Shocking.”

His glibness, on top of everything else, made Thor exploded in anger. He dropped the glass that was still in his hand. It shattered as he ran blindly at Loki, tackling him to the ground. This? This he knew. Fighting with your bare hands and beating your opponent into the ground. This he could do. Yes, this was his brother but his brother had sought him out specifically tonight to hurt him. But to what purpose? Loki, momentarily winded, quickly recovered. Throwing his weight to the side, he knocked Thor off of him and scrambled into a defensive crouch.

“You and your posse,” he spat through the rain, “have more reason to kill Odin than anyone. So you can have all of this!” he bellowed, throwing his arms wide and spinning.

Thor watched with a growing sickness. In that moment, he didn’t recognize his own brother. And that scared him.  

“I didn’t kill our father,” Thor insisted, shaking with adrenaline. “I have an alibi.”

“I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Loki sneered. “He made all this for you, didn’t he?” he ranted. As he talked, Loki felt the ground with his hand, wrapping his fingers around the largest shard of Thor’s broken tumbler. “Isn’t that the story we’ve been told since we were children? Odin wanted a son to one day succeed him in power. So he built all this for you!” Loki seethed. He gripped the glass, his fist tightened around it in anger. The ragged edge cut into the palm of his hand. Blood began trickling down his wrist. “It was always about you!”  

When Thor came at him again he was ready and sliced his hand through the air. Thor saw the glint of the glass against the lightning too late and he felt the skin of his forehead break. He roared, more out of frustration than pain. Thor shoved Loki away from him, throwing him across the wet concrete. Loki rolled, slamming into the brick lip.

“And what about you?” Thor called. “Maybe you knew father didn’t have a will and wished to kill him off before he made one. You were always jealous of me,” he accused.

Thor marveled that while they’d teased and tugged as children, they’d never gotten into a true physical altercation before. All those years of his brother’s goading and derision. He was astonished he was able restrain himself this long.

“Jealous?” Loki wiped the blood from his lip, the rain turning it pink on his fingertips. “Of what? That I had to work to develop myself while you were handed everything? ”  

A cry tore from Thor’s throat, “That our father loved me more than you!” What doubts he had of his father earlier, in that moment, were erased. He was positive his father loved him.

Thor pursued Loki to the edge of the roof, grabbing his shirt collar and wrenching him off the ground. He drove his back into the brick wall, his head dangling over into the alley below. Loki coughed, wrapping his hands around his brother’s forearms, looking wildly at the drop and back at Thor. “Perhaps you are right,” Thor ground out. “Maybe I have been looking in the wrong place,” he shook his brother. “Maybe I can avenge my father right now.” At that moment one of Loki’s knees connected with his stomach. The blow doubled him over, throwing his weight forward and pulling them both over the ledge of the building where they disappeared into the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

_She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and_   
_The killer instinct tells her to be aware of evil men_   
_\- “Pretty Girl” Sugarcult_

“Darcy and her special hidden clubs,” Jane grumbled, taking her eyes off the road to check the GPS on her phone for the third time. “Can’t go to a normal bar on a normal street.” This couldn't be right, these coordinates. She squinted past her wipers through the drizzle into more darkness. They were sending her down a narrow alley with a dumpster in it. It was pitch black out and the backs of the tall, looming buildings on either side of her blocked out any streetlights. Jane glanced up to make sure her car was still crawling straight. Since she was alone she made no effort to mask her annoyance. “And what kind of name is _Loki_ anyway?”  

Jane eased down the poorly lit street, squinting at her phone again. She was beginning to regret agreeing to go out with Darcy and meet this mysterious Loki in the first place. Okay, if she was being honest, Loki wasn’t the strangest moniker for a friend of Darcy’s. After getting off her shift at the hospital she had hustled to get showered and changed. She’d settled for comfort in jeans and a plaid button down shirt and she was still running late. Her outfit wouldn’t thrill Darcy, especially the brown puffy vest she wore over it. She claimed it made Jane look like she was with Doctors Without Borders, but it was the best she could do in the circumstances. She sighed, dismissing the latest “where r u????” text from Darcy. In her exasperation her foot hit the gas a little harder than necessary. When she looked back up at the road, a black form appeared in front of her car. Jane gasped and slammed on the brakes, phone flying out of her hand and disappearing under the seat. Oh god, did she hit something? She hit a dog. Or a homeless man who was just trying to find a place to sleep for the night. Maybe it wasn’t a living thing. Maybe she’d just hit ... a trash can, she thought weakly.

Jane threw her car into park and rushed out, leaving the driver's door open. She _had_ hit something. It was large and sprawled out on its back, eyes closed and unresponsive. She ran over to kneel at its side.

Oh my god she had hit a person. A man. Lit up by the headlights of her car, Jane looked him over as she checked for a pulse. He definitely wasn't homeless. Or if he was, he was the best dressed homeless man she'd ever seen. His jacket was thrown open to reveal an expensive sounding label. She felt the soft silk of his tie as it brushed against her arm. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, only a few years older than herself. He had stubble, but his hair was neatly trimmed.

The gravity of the whole situation came crashing down on her. She’d get put away for vehicular manslaughter. They’d never let her practice medicine again. "Do me a favor and don't be dead! Please!" she begged the lifeless form in front of her. As if hearing her plea, his eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on her. Even through the darkness she could see the laser blue of his eyes searching hers.

"I'm a doctor ... are you alright?” When he didn’t respond, she raised up on her knees. “I’m going to call an ambulance," she turned to retrieve her phone from the car. A firm grip on her wrist yanked her back, startling her. She looked from where his fingers wrapped around her slender arm back to his face.

"No," he choked out. In trying to stop her he had sat up too fast. Now he leaned his head back against the pavement and arched in pain. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He fought to get up onto his elbows. "Don't, just ..." he struggled for air. "Just help me up." He got himself into a mostly upright position.

Jane took in his stature and her own. Easier said than done. Even on the ground he had a huge size advantage over her. She’d moved bigger at the hospital, but with considerable help. Bracing herself she crouched, placing her whole body under one of his arms. She felt his strength again as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder for balance. Together they got him standing. "I can take you to the hospital," she insisted.

He shook his head again, limping as they moved forward. He nodded to the building to their left, "Just get me in there."

Jane glanced at the structures on either side of them, then up and down the long street they were on. There were no doors from either of the buildings exiting into the alleyway. The entrance was around the front. “Where did you come from?” she wandered aloud. Judging by the anguish on his face, he was concentrating on not passing out and didn’t hear her. As they stumbled past her vehicle, she braced him against it while she grabbed her medical bag out of the trunk and locked her car. 

When they reached the main street, the people walking past them were either too drunk or too busy looking at their phones to take much notice of them. Jane looked up at the building he had directed her to, reading the red neon sign in the sky above them. Asgard Tower. The doorman looked right past them as he let them in. The gray haired security guard at the front desk stood at their entrance. But sat back down when the injured man waved him off. Jane was startled by their disinterest. She’d be getting no help from them, apparently. Jane and her new patient struggled over to the elevators and she leaned out to hit the up button. Jane twisted around to peek back at the two men in the lobby. They both had returned to their jobs as if they’d never seen them. The guard was reading a magazine with his feet on the desk.

In the bright lights of the lobby she was able to better assess the man’s injuries. Blood trickled from his nose and his face was bruised. More blood oozed from a large gash across his forehead near his hairline. And from the way he favored his left side, he probably had a few fractured ribs. Jane mentally calculated all of his injuries and overall state, "How hard did I hit you?!"

He looked down, as if seeing her for the first time. Jane thought she saw a smile underneath the pained expression on his face, "You didn't," he replied.

“Wha…,” the ding announcing the arrival of the elevator interrupted her question. The doors opened and they hobbled inside. It was a smooth and quick ride up to one of the highest floors. When the doors opened, based on the business facade of the lobby, she expected a traditional office with a reception desk and cubicles. Instead it was an apartment with a vaulted ceiling. White columns separated the living room from the kitchen on the right and the bedroom area on the left. French doors framed by gauzy white curtains were on the other side of the apartment and opened onto a balcony. She could see the city lights reflected up from the street below. What color there was in the room was deep burgundies and dark grays. The apartment wasn’t so much welcoming as it was enveloping, like a drugged Grecian dreamscape.

He pointed them to their right, where there was an alcove that served as his office. A dark rug lay under the desk and built-in bookshelves decorated the walls. Books that existed more for ambiance than reading lined the shelves. Jane dropped her bag on a table by the entranceway while he limped over to his desk. He leaned against it with a sigh of relief, looking down to inspect his own injuries. Jane sorted through her bag, intermittently peering up at him. Blood covered his shirt. Her attention drifted back up to the gash on his forehead. It couldn't all be his; he wouldn’t be able to stand if it was.

"Should I call the cops?" she ventured.

"No," he answered instantly, it sounded like a laugh. The jerking of his body made him grimace and hold his side. "No," he repeated softer when he took in her confusion. "The police will be of no use in this particular instance." His baritone reverberated in the quiet room. He wasn’t any more forthcoming with details, and Jane had more pressing concerns.

"Your head is going to need stitches," she turned back to her bag and rifled through it. She systematically pulled out antiseptic, thread, scissors, and needles. She turned back to him, materials clutched in both hands, "I think I have …." her stomach dropped. She hadn’t been mistaken about how strong his grip had been earlier.

His soaked jacket and tie were off and thrown over the desk. He had unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from the waistband of his pants and was now undoing the clasps at his wrists. He held his breath to brace himself while he gingerly peeled off his stained button down.

Jane held her own breath while she stared and let it out in a little whoosh. In her medical work she’d seen any number of naked strangers and considered herself numb to the nude form. Bare-chested in front of her, it turned out that underneath the collar the his shirt, he had trapezius muscles she hadn’t seen so well defined outside of _Grey’s Anatomy_. And if he needed his shirt cleaned later, he could wash it on his abs. Suture supplies still held dumbly in the air, she was suddenly very aware of the proximity of his bedroom. Her survey involuntarily slid over to the bed, a four poster monstrosity most likely custom built for his height … and were those red silk sheets? When surveillance returned to him she found that he had been watching her. He traced her sight line over to his bed, then back to her, leering leisurely. Jane straightened her spine, trying to resume her business-like manner even as she felt her face redden. A spark in his eye that wasn’t there previously appeared and he smirked at her. _Get it together, Foster. You are a professional._

"Um…,’ she blinked hard, giving her head a little shake, and strode over to him, “how do your ribs feel?"

He spread his arms, offering up his broad chest to her, “You tell me, doc,” suddenly flippant. Jane steeled herself and closed the rest of the gap between them, which only brought her to the level of his pectorals. She set her suturing supplies on the desk next to him, avoiding his eyes. She reached her hands tentatively out to him, hesitated when he dipped his head to follow her movements, then placed them on his bare chest. Just as she suspected, his skin was smooth but everything underneath was a solid mass of muscle. When she didn’t begin her exam immediately, she swore she felt him flex under her fingertips, making her jump. She didn’t know if he was purposefully being difficult or not. When she looked up at him sharply he quickly averted his gaze, she suspected hiding his amusement. Narrowing her eyes, she gave a push on his chest, wiping that pleased look right off his face as he reacted to the discomfort. She instantly felt bad about it and began her exam in earnest, probing gently and quickly losing herself in her practice, noting when he grimaced or sucked in a breath. She checked out his breathing and listened to his lungs while he calmly contemplated her. “Air is moving in and out normally. You fractured a rib but haven’t punctured your lungs,” she reported.

This part of her examination complete, she made the mistake of looking down to check him for injuries to his lower body. Her sightline followed the curve of his pecs that cut a defined line straight down his stomach, bisecting his abdomen, and to the lines of his hips that disappeared into his pants. Her eyes had betrayed her again, and when she dragged them back up his body, she found him grinning down at her, entertained by her struggle. Apparently her battle was evident all over her face.

If he was still feeling any soreness, he wasn’t showing it. Instead he looked bemused, “Do I make you nervous?” he asked.

“No,” she stepped back defensively, crossing her arms. She told herself it was from the draft coming through the open French doors. To counteract the chill, a robust fire was burning in the four-sided fireplace in the middle of the room.

Desperate to change the subject, she nodded to the balcony, “What’s out there?” She tried to sound casual.

“A ladder to the helicopter pad,” he replied, as if she were asking the color of the walls (cream with gold trim).   

“Of course,” she squeaked.

She looked him over with a non-medical eye, taking in the whole of him this time. He straightened his back and stared cockily back and her, not in the least bit shy. He was ... big. Everything about him was larger than life. Overwhelmingly. Judging from the marble floors of his apartment, he had money. And looks, obviously. And he knew it. Assessment complete. “You know, for a guy who couldn’t even stand on his own twenty minutes ago, you’re a little full of yourself,” she announced. She surprised herself that something so blunt had come out of her mouth; she prided herself on her civility. But the situation, and this man, called for it.

He looked a little shocked as well, which made her suddenly very aware that she was alone in a stranger’s home. With a man triple her size no less. If there was ever a time to be carrying the taser Darcy was always trying to thrust upon her, it was now. But then his eyes lit up and he chuckled warmly and Jane let out a relieved laugh.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the desk, so she could reach him. As she prepped her equipment, she observed him out of the corner of her eye. He looked down at his right hand and flexed his fingers. A couple of his knuckles were cracked open. She returned to him and dabbed lightly at the cut on his forehead. After she cleaned and disinfected the cut, she began her sutures. They fell into companionable silence, her completely focused on her work, him preoccupied by far away thoughts. She noticed him crinkling his brow and scowling about something, but she didn't dare ask what. If he didn't want the police involved, then she didn't want to be either. Eventually he seemed to reach some decision because he gave up on whatever was bothering him and reasserted his observation of her. She felt his eyes wandering her face, studying her.

Doing her best to ignore him, she usually didn’t work with such an intent audience, she cut some gauze and taped it over the stitches. Resting her hand on the side of his face, she ran her thumb over the bandage to smooth it. She tilted her head, reviewing her work. Finally his eyes caught hers and once again she was distracted. Not sure what to do with his intense scrutiny, she returned his perusal. Her thumb stroked his temple absentmindedly. “It shouldn’t scar,” she told him, her voice sounded a bit breathy to her.  

During the course of her work she had settled in close to him, her hips pressing against the desk between his thighs. One of his hands had slid around her waist and the fingers of his other were hooked into the belt loop of her jeans, imperceptibly tugging her closer to him. When her gaze fell to his mouth, her eyes slid shut in an effort to block out any and all temptation. That worked until she felt his breath on her cheek and her lips parted. "I should go," she exhaled abruptly, squeezing her lids tighter. She felt him give her hips a firm squeeze before dropping his hands. Her eyes fluttered open.

His lips parted as if to either say something or kiss hers. But he seemed to think better of it. "Yes," he smiled down at her somberly, "you probably should."

Jane didn't think she liked his condescending tone. She felt judged and offended … and a little sad.

“I thank you, Jane Foster,” he interrupted her thoughts, his tone friendly.  

She nodded distractedly, not looking at him while she gathered her things. “Wait. How do you know my name?” she asked alarmed. Instantly he was a stranger again. He pointed to her bag on the table behind her, a graduation gift. Her name was embroidered on it. “Oh, of course," she sighed. She couldn’t seem to stop embarrassing herself around him. They were both right. She should leave, now. For both their sakes. “And you’re welcome," she added hastily.

She swept the rest of her equipment into the satchel and slung it over your shoulder and fled to the elevator. Thankfully it opened for her immediately. When she got in and turned around, he was standing in the entryway watching her go, looking strong and inviting. Jane fought the nagging feeling that told her to return to him. They locked eyes and Jane opened her mouthto say … something, she didn’t know what, but no words came. Whatever it was was lost forever when the elevator doors closed, separating them. Jane collapsed against the wall and exhaled, the intensity of the last hour rushing over her.   

When the elevator doors opened on the bottom floor, the two men in the lobby stared silently at her as she left.


End file.
